who had remarked every evening when
putting on a white tie that he looked as fine as if he were going to a
wedding--if he had been able to accumulate an enormous fortune, and to
become thereby a power in the republic; if he had been able to obtain in
marriage a young lady, one of whose ancestors had fallen at Marignano,
what an important personage little Raoul might become. M. Godefroy built
all sorts of air-castles for his boy, forgetting that Christmas is the
birthday of a very poor little child, son of a couple of vagrants, born
in a stable, where the parents only found lodging through charity.

In the midst of the banker's dreams the coachman cried: "Door, please,"
and drove into the yard. As he went up the steps M. Godefroy was
thinking that he had barely time to dress for dinner; but on entering
the vestibule he found all the domestics crowded in front of him in a
state of alarm and confusion. In a corner, crouching on a seat, was the
German nursery-governess, crying. When she saw the banker she buried her
face in her hands and wept still more copiously than before. M. Godefroy
felt that some misfortune had happened.

"What's the meaning of all this? What's amiss? What has happened?"

Charles, the _valet de chambre_, a sneaking rascal of the worst type,
looked at his master with eyes full of pity and stammered: "Mr. Raoul--"

"My boy?"

"Lost, sir. The stupid German did it. Since four o'clock this afternoon
he has not been seen."

The father staggered back like one who had been hit by a ball. The
German threw herself at his feet, screaming: "Mercy, mercy!" and the
domestics all spoke at the same time.

"Bertha didn't go to _parc Monceau_. She lost the child over there on the
fortifications. We have sought him all over, sir. We went to the office
for you, sir, and then to the Chamber, but you had just left. Just
imagine, the German had a rendezvous with her lover every day, beyond
the ramparts, near the gate of Asniиres. What a shame! It is a place
full of low gipsies and strolling players. Perhaps the child has been
stolen. Yes, sir, we informed the police at once. How could we imagine
such a thing? A hypocrite, that German! She had a rendezvous, doubtless,
with a countryman--a Prussian spy, sure enough!"

His son lost! M. Godefroy seemed to have a torrent of blood rushing
through his head. He sprang at Mademoiselle, seized her by the arms and
shook her furiously.

"Where did you lose him, you miserable girl? Tell me the truth before I
shake you to pieces. Do you hear? Do you hear?"

But the unfortunate girl could only cry and beg for mercy.

The banker tried to be calm. No, it was impossible. Nobody would dare
to steal _his_ boy. Somebody would find him and bring him back. Of that
there could be no doubt. He could scatter money about right and left,
and could have the entire police force at his orders. And he would set
to work at once, for not an instant should be lost.

"Charles, don't let the horses be taken out. You others, see that this
girl doesn't escape. I'm going to the Prefecture."

And M. Godefroy, with his heart thumping against his sides as if it
would break them, his hair wild with fright, darted into his carriage,
which at once rolled off as fast as the horses could take it. What
irony! The carriage was full of glittering playthings, which sparkled
every time a gaslight shone on them. For the next day was the birthday
of the divine Infant at whose cradle wise men and simple shepherds alike
adored.

"My poor little Raoul! Poor darling! Where is my boy?" repeated the
father as in his anguish he dug his nails into the cushions of the
carriage.

At that moment all his titles and decorations, his honors, his millions,
were valueless to him. He had one single idea burning in his brain. "My
poor child! Where is my child?"

At last he reached the Prefecture of Police. But no one was there--the
office had been deserted for some time.